


crawling

by gabriphales



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Chronic Illness, Gen, Mental Health Issues, No Plot/Plotless, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, implied/referenced disordered eating habits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:53:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23928712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabriphales/pseuds/gabriphales
Summary: aziraphale wants to get better; brief, barely connected snippets of him dealing w/ mental illness
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Gabriel (Good Omens)
Kudos: 9





	crawling

**Author's Note:**

> projection city baby!!!

"it doesn't seem to be working. the meds." aziraphale says, so quiet it's deathly.

"give it time. give yourself time to heal." crowley tells him, an arm around his back, and a thousand comforts left unspoken, for all the trouble they aren't worth. he never knows if he's saying the right thing or not. and this is too important to slip up on, this is too important for mistakes.

"it was supposed to be working by now." aziraphale fidgets. his leg's bouncing, knees knocking together where he sits. crowley places a hand over one, tries to stay its anxious trembling.

"it'll work. i know it will." he says, with a tone of undeniable finality.

and aziraphale doesn't meet his eyes for the rest of the conversation, but he nods with every bit of praise and reassurance crowley has to offer. that's enough to let him know he's not too far gone. he's still listening. always listening.

-

"i feel dirty. like i need to be cleansed." aziraphale waters down the admission with a weak, humorless laugh. the same way one might water down orange juice with cyanide. gabriel's mouth twists into something uncomfortable, an almost-smile. like he's trying to keep himself together. aziraphale doesn't know who it's for.

"well. i turned to faith in my time of need." gabriel suggests. "maybe that'd help."

"i go to the confession booth daily. i'm in church with you, right now. i'm not getting better."

gabriel recoils like he's just been stung. there's nothing to hurt him but the truth, aziraphale tells himself. he can't feel bad for being honest.

"my mom used to say jesus can heal all wounds."

"not mine." aziraphale settles. "not mine at all."

gabriel's hand settles over his own like he's scared aziraphale might vanish entirely the second he hazards physical touch. there's heat between his fingers, grazing over aziraphale's knuckles as he rubs there with his thumb.

"can i help? in any way?" gabriel asks him. it's so desperate, so vulnerable. aziraphale wants to throw up what it makes him feel.

"i don't know." he manages to answer. still honest to a fault, though he's starting to regret that.

gabriel softens. "then just stay here, with me. for now, at least."

aziraphale leans against him, keeping quiet as he tries to outweigh the negative.

-

"sweetheart, you have to hold onto me, can you hold on?" crowley's voice is distant and out of focus, dipped in lukewarm, tepid honey as he speaks. aziraphale hardly realizes he's lost grip of his shoulders until gabriel's pressing his hands back into place. there's warm water on his back. it's so hot. he's being scalded alive, and doesn't have the will to care.

"i didn't think he'd get this bad." gabriel sounds panicked. he's out of breath, frantic and wide-eyed as he stares at crowley. "i didn't - i should have - i should have kept a closer eye on him."

"don't blame yourself. he's fine." crowley says, though he doesn't look too sure of that himself. aziraphale's back has gone raw by now, he's so absolutely sure of it. he must be losing skin, bleeding down between his shoulder blades. he's going to die here, he just knows it. dead, dead, deader than dead, and even more dead then.

he sobs. it doesn't sound human, and it's not worth the steam that floods his open mouth, feels like smoke trickling down his lungs.

"i know, i know, angel." crowley mutters a myriad of comfort that aziraphale can't decipher. the water's turned off now, he realizes, and crowley's rubbing at his back. he must not be bleeding after all. he's safe, safe with them. as safe as he's ever been, ever will be.

"d'you think he'll throw up again?"

he isn't sure if that's gabriel speaking or crowley.

"definitely. give him time. not much will come up, but we should keep watch while he's sleeping."

that's crowley, he decides. smart crowley, his crowley. the crowley who always knows what to do and say. the crowley he loves. the crowley he can't afford to disappoint.

he's worried him far too much already.

"sick." aziraphale's thinking more with his stomach than his brain, and the sickly, bubbling nausea coursing through his gut seems to voice his thoughts for him.

"right now? you can let it out in the shower. we're still cleaning you up." gabriel says. as if his permission was the only thing plugging up aziraphale's throat, he vomits on command. little more than spittle, though his abdomen still clenches throughout the aftermath. 

crowley's fingers are in his hair, stroking against his scalp the whole while. and it's not quite comfort enough to still aziraphale's pounding heart, or the racing, throbbing, _bad_ thoughts in his head. but he's grateful anyways. grateful for the fact crowley's trying. grateful for the fact crowley's here.

-

"stay in bed." 

"but i feel better - "

"hush. stay in bed. you're still tipsy. just wait for the hangover to kick in. and rest for me, okay? just rest."

begrudgingly, aziraphale listens. 

-

"are the meds still not working?" gabriel asks, spooning at his dinner with nervous intensity. he's directing all his focus to how his soup can slide from his spoon without pausing to dribble, because that's easier to think about than, well, _this._

aziraphale hesitates. "i don't know."

crowley picks up on his hesitance without having to try. "you don't have to hide things from us. we're not your family, or your therapist."

"shouldn't be hiding from your therapist." 

"shut it, gabe." crowley seethes. there's venom in his teeth.

"don't. he's not wrong." aziraphale says, pushing his own bowl aside. "i'm not really hungry tonight."

"not hungry? must be a real travesty." gabriel tries a hand at humor to deflect the tension in the room. it falls flat, without cushioning for the blow.

"i'm going upstairs." aziraphale announces. he sounds faint and uneasy even to his own ears.

"alright, if you need anything, we're right here for you." crowley tells him, forcing a smile as he kicks at gabriel's shin underneath the table.

"what did i do?" gabriel asks, affronted.

" _shut it._ "

"please," aziraphale manages. "please, don't fight. it's fine. i just need some time to clear my head."

he keeps his head down, avoiding whatever looks crowley and gabriel might have in store for him. his feet feel heavy, but his legs are lighter than ever as he skitters up the stairway. he could take off, start floating any moment now. or maybe just faint. he's not sure which one he'd prefer.

at least sleeping comes easier when he's too sick to fight it.

-

"do your thoughts go silent when you're with me?" gabriel asks, two glasses of wine and three shots of vodka into the conversation. the space on the sofa between them feels pointless and banal, and aziraphale wants to be touched, wants to be held like a weary child. he's felt like a child for so long now. maybe he never grew out of it.

"maybe. sometimes, i guess." he says, tipping his head back, and downing another gulp of something clear and violent. it stings on the way down. he doesn't bother with worrying if it's going to come back up this time.

"do they go quiet with crowley?" gabriel tries to sound innocent, simply inquiring, but he's never been very good at that. the envy in his mouth spills forward like bloody drool. the aftermath of a punch to the face, full of chipped teeth, and a broken jaw to match. aziraphale doesn't linger on the metaphor.

"i guess, maybe. i don't know." he hardly even realizes he's cycling through the same few phrases. legs trembling, arms twitching with such intensity he wants to snap them at the elbow. he's vicious with himself, too far gone to stop.

"do you even like me, really?"

aziraphale's chest hurts. he wants to shove his fingers down his throat, bring forwards that awful, burning feeling, and spit up heat until he doesn't feel like his body's on fire anymore.

"of course." the words melt with a stifled, damp grit. he's about to cry, and he knows it. "i love you."

there's nothing said in reply. until - 

"do you love crowley too?"

and aziraphale has to get up and leave. trailing behind him a number of wordy, frenetic apologies from gabriel. his hand just falls short of gripping onto aziraphale's wrist. and that - even that, wouldn't be enough to make him stay.

"keep the wine. it's good, you'll like it." he says, slamming the door behind him before gabriel has the chance to try any better endeavors.

-

he's texting crowley. under the covers, his phone light feels like the only remnant of an outside world. it's too dark, otherwise. he turns his screen brightness all the way up for this.

 _'come over, please.'_

his phone lights up with a notification like it's just as happy with crowley's speedy response as aziraphale is.

_'course. u having another episode? x'_

it's everything he could have ever wanted. everything he needs.

_'yeah.'_

and when crowley's car rolls up in the driveway, he finds he only feels the slightest bit guilty for having never answered gabriel.


End file.
